


(there goes) my happily ever after

by buckymyson (trashfinity)



Series: we were just kids [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Car Accidents, F/M, Fluff, Married Couple, Miscarriage, an OC or two but as supporting characters in one scene each, it's set in the same universe but no one has died, mentioned but not thoroughly discussed, oops this got dark, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-19 22:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12419817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashfinity/pseuds/buckymyson
Summary: Betty and Archie, now collectively known as the Andrews, are ready to take on their next great adventure together; college. But life has a few cards up its sleeves, and it's not about to make life any easier for them.Or: fluff, then angst, then fluff, with more angst to come.





	1. freshman year

**Author's Note:**

> this is a sequel to my other archiebetty fic, so I would recommend reading that one first. or, if not, just know that they started dating around the beginning of tenth grade and got married right after graduation.
> 
> I have another sequel coming assuming I can find the time to sit down and write, and there may be a third and fourth chapter to this if, again, i can find the time and inspiration, so watch out for those. 
> 
> title from 'too good to say goodbye' by Bruno Mars because it works well for what I have so far.

The one constant in Betty’s life has always been Archie Andrews.

From the age of four, he’s been her neighbour, her best friend, the one to whom she cries over the phone late at night, and so much more. For every good memory in Betty’s life, Archie’s there, sometimes in the background but typically in the forefront with her. He’s also in some bad ones, like the time Reggie called her names on the playground and Archie didn’t stop him. Or the time they fought over his dying mother and she walked out on him in the middle of the night.

But the fond moments that Betty holds near and dear to her heart will always overpower the tragic and upsetting ones. She won’t forget the times they’ve hurt each other, but she never dwells on them. This, she decides, is what will help make their marriage work throughout college, when the pressure to be perfect is worse than ever before and everyone doubts that their relationship will make it through unscathed.

They’re barely married when they move to New York, having just gotten back from their three-week-long honeymoon – a road trip along the coast– by the time they’re packing their things and leaving small town Maine for the big city, but Betty isn’t scared about any of it. Not leaving home, going to NYU, or being married so young. She has Archie to help her through everything, and he’ll have her. Together, they can make. She knows this in her heart. They’ve been together, even just as friends, for too long to fail now.

“Are you sure you have everything?” Veronica questions, a little too much like a worried mother not ready to let her child leave the nest. “Because I don’t want you to be calling me up every day to complain about leaving a sweater and asking to use my money to buy a new one.”

Betty doesn’t miss the mischievous gleam in her best friend’s eye, or her struggle to keep a straight face. “Yes, mom,” she replies sarcastically. Then her smile becomes sincere, and Betty throws her arms around Veronica. “I’m going to miss you, Ron.”

“Bets, we’re going to the same university,” Veronica points out.

“Yeah, but we won’t be in the same place! And you don’t move in for another three weeks. What am I supposed to do for that long?”

“Wow Betty, it’s too bad you don’t have a husband to keep you company or something,” says Jughead mockingly, and Betty flips him the bird for it. “Oh wow, a finger. I’m so offended.”

“I’m definitely not going to miss your sarcasm,” she claims, though they all know she’s lying. The little things that make them _them_ are going to be what Betty misses the most. Jughead’s sarcasm, sharp wit, and affinity for Pop’s burgers; Veronica’s terribly cheesy jokes, gossip skills, and unwavering friendship; Vegas’ love of socks, Betty, and meat; and most of all, the good times they all shared.

Separating from her hug with Veronica, Betty walks over to Jughead with a sincere smile and pulls him into a hug. He tries to fight it for a moment, but she simply grips tighter, so he gives up and lets the hug run its course.

“Don’t let Archie get too drunk,” he warns, sounding more like a worried parent than Veronica. “We don’t need a repeat of the Fourth of July.” Simultaneously, the group shudders at the memory. Betty, having been completely sober at the time, remembers all too well the trouble her then-fiancé had gotten in. He only avoided getting arrested because it was his bachelor party and Sheriff Keller was in a good mood. “And he says he can eat seven hot dogs in one sitting, but he really can’t.”

“So keep him away from liquor and over-indulging,” she surmises. “Can’t be too difficult.”

“You’d be surprised,” Jughead comments. “I’m going to miss you, Betty,” he adds, smile genuine instead of his typical sarcastic smirk.

“I’ll miss you too, Jug.”

Betty steps back from the embrace as Archie pulls up with his pick-up truck, the cargo bed stuffed with various furniture and suitcases. It’s a real hunker, but it got them down the East Coast easily enough. Plus, there were some good times had in the truck, back in their junior and senior years. It’d be a shame to let it go now.

He hops out of the cab, slamming the door shut. “She’s all gassed up and ready to go,” Archie announces, swinging his keys as he walks up to the group. His arm instantly finds its place around Betty’s shoulders, and he leans over to give her a kiss.

“Ugh, you’re so married,” Veronica scoffs. “It’s sickening yet adorable and I hate you for giving me such high standards.”

To really shove it in their friends’ faces, Betty deepens the kiss, twisting so they’re chest to chest, and runs her hand through his hair.

“Alright, we get it; you’re grossly in love. You can stop now.”

Betty smirks into the kiss, giving her friends a full view of Archie’s tongue that is currently exploring her mouth. They groan with disgust, begging them to “stop the disgusting display” (Jughead’s words) and to “get a room” (Veronica’s). But Betty doesn’t feel like stopping yet, as she enjoys making out with her husband and torturing her friends at the same time, and she knows Archie feels the same.

“Hey Andrews!” calls out an arrogant voice that Betty recognizes as that of one Reggie Mantle. “Stop sucking face with your girl and say goodbye to your friends!”

Against Betty’s protests, Archie gives her one last peck on the lips before running off to talk with his old football buddies.

“I _definitely_ won’t miss Reggie.”

Veronica shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah he can be an ass, but he’s still kind of cute.”

Betty shakes her head. “Why am I friends with you?”

“What? Just because _you’re_ married doesn’t mean _I_ can’t look. And I would never date him! One date that lasts till breakfast, and that’s it. Minus the date, of course.”

“Seriously, Ronnie? _Reggie_?”

She stares at the jock for a few more seconds, deliberating the merits of Reggie if her pursed lips and thoughtful stare are anything to go by, and then waves her hand dismissively. “Yeah, I think I’ll be okay without him.”

The two friends chuckle, Jughead joining in sarcastically, as they enjoy one final moment together before they all leave Riverdale until Christmas. Despite moving to the same city, Betty knows she won’t be able to see Veronica as often as she’d like, and it will be a hard adjustment after three years together. It’ll be easier than seeing Jughead, however, as he’s moving to Toledo to be closer to his sister.

Finally, after an eternity of watching the jocks bro-hug it out, Archie returns to say his final goodbyes. With Veronica, he gives her a hug and promises to help her move in when she arrives, but his final words to Jughead are much more touching. Betty isn’t ashamed to admit they bring a tear or ten to her eyes. (She’s an emotional person, and crying isn’t something to hide!)

The last goodbye is Archie’s dad, a heart-wrenching affair between a father and his son. For nine years, Archie grew into a hardworking, passionate young man with no help from his mother. The past two and a half years have been tough, as they’d both been burdened with the knowledge that Mary Andrews had died before allowing her the opportunity to beg their full forgiveness. Betty has witnessed first-hand the toll it’s taken on Archie. For months after her death, he spent every waking second outside of school and football in the garage, scribbling away on countless sheets of blank sheet music. He scrapped many songs, ripping through the sheets with an eruption of rage and humiliation. The few he salvaged and played for Betty were heart-breaking and melancholic, a true insight into the anguish bubbling within. Cutting ties with her parents had hurt, a constant dull ache in her chest from the absence of the people who gave her life, but this was a type of pain she would never experience.

He’s gotten better since then. Therapy helped immensely, offering support Betty and his father could never give. He may never truly be his old self, but Betty doesn’t mind. Change is a way to bring together the destinies of two people, and without this change, they may never have made it as far as they have.

“And you,” Fred says, pointing an accusatory finger at Betty, though his tone is soft and sincere, “watch out for my son. I trust you to take care of him now, and I’m expecting to see him home for Christmas unscathed, you hear?”

“I promise to bring him back in one piece.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s a regular Friday afternoon in November when Archie returns home from class, guitar case weighing heavily on his weary shoulders. He struggles to find his keys, and wastes five minutes patting down every pocket on his person. Then, as he starts back down the hall to retrace his steps, silently praying to whichever god is listening that his NYU keychain is laying on the steps of his apartment building and not somewhere in the bustling metropolis outside, there’s the click of the door unlocking, and he freezes on the spot. A creak echoes through the dim hall, eerie and spine-tingling. Archie whirls around, heart racing and fists up, ready for a fight, but it’s only Betty.

Momentarily, he forgets that his wife typically has class for another hour after him on Friday, and strolls into the apartment, his only concern being the creaky door hinge.

“How was class?” Betty inquires, handing him a steaming mug of coffee. He gulps it down like it’s an after-practice burger from Pop’s and Jughead just made a bee-line for their booth.

Setting the empty mug on a coaster, Archie shrugs indifferently. “It was class.” Fridays aren’t anything special; he has a Natural Science lecture in the morning (it’s a requirement, sadly) and Music Theory in the afternoon. “Wait, shouldn’t you be in class?”

He doesn’t miss the way she avoids eye contact, choosing instead to stare intently into her tea, or how she curls up into herself, shifting away from Archie’s outstretched arm. “Oh, I wasn’t feeling well.”

Back in high school, Veronica would always huff and sigh at his obliviousness. Growing up on the Upper East Side, she’d been trained from a young age to quietly observe, gather intelligence on her victim, and then strike, but Riverdale had been far less complicated. Only Cheryl went as far as that, and the Blossom girl had always been different than her peers. Archie’s hobbies didn’t require such a skill, so he’d use his time refining other talents. Still, Veronica had managed to rub off on him, as he finds himself watching Betty for signs, hints of what’s going on inside her head.

But no matter how bad a liar she may be, his wife has mastered the skill of burrowing inside herself, building an impenetrable wall even Archie – especially Archie – has difficulty tearing down. He knows that the harder he pushes, the less she’ll talk.

This leaves him with two options: call Veronica and waste everyone’s time, or offer to be a shoulder to cry on and hope she’ll find the strength to open up.

“Betty, you know I’m here for you. If you ever need to talk.”

She tries to smile, but it comes across as a grimace. “I’m fine, Arch. But thank you.”

_Don’t push it,_ he reminds himself. If she wants to talk, she’ll talk. He remembers what it’s like to be deep into his thoughts, though; remembers how difficult it was to open up without fear of being ridiculed. Maybe she needs to be pushed into the deep end, so she’ll learn to swim.

“Screw it,” he decides, throwing down the metaphorical gauntlet. “Betty, be honest with me; what’s wrong? Just last month, you had a fever of one-hundred and one, and you insisted you were well enough to go to class. The Betty Cooper I know doesn’t just skip class because she’s not feeling well. Something’s wrong, and I want you to tell me. I can help you.”

She takes a shaky breath, hands trembling as she places her mug on the coffee table. Outside, the sounds of the city are deafening, but inside their quaint apartment, there’s only the sound of their hearts pounding in their chests. The silence presses in, suffocating him, crushing his lungs under its weight.

He’s drowning in anticipation when Betty finally speaks up, though her words only push him further under.

“I think I might be pregnant.”

In an instant, the world stops spinning. Everything just . . . shatters into pieces. He becomes acutely aware of the blood pounding in his ears, a constant drumbeat the only indication that this isn’t a nightmare.

“Are – are you sure?” he manages weakly. He wants to be supportive – this is his wife, the love of his life, his soulmate – but he’s having a hard time wrapping his brain around this tiny yet life-changing possibility.

Betty shrugs, trying to act casually to prevent worry, but he can see the fear, the uncertainty, in her eyes, in the way she bites her lip, in the way she still won’t look at him. “I mean, I don’t know for sure. But I’m three weeks late, and I’ve been feeling off lately.”

“So you might not be?” He tries not to let too much hope bleed through, for Betty’s sake, but he’s not sure he succeeds.

“Maybe not.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want kids, but they’re only eighteen. He’s not mature enough for this responsibility. He’d been thinking about bringing this up after college graduation, not _high school._ They have school – so much school – and many plans to travel the world – so many plans – and want time to enjoy married life, just the two of them. Bringing in children now, though a great blessing, would decimate every last idea of what their lives can be. Plus, they can’t afford kids. They can barely afford to pay rent and tuition as it is, and that’s with Betty’s full-ride and all of their collective money they’ve saved.

“I just – what do we do, Arch?”

“Let’s just take the weekend to relax, and you can pick up a test on Monday. Whatever happens though, I’m right here.”

He takes her hand, pressing a light kiss to her knuckle, right below her wedding band. It’s a promise, just like when he gave her his grandmother’s ring, and slid the slim band onto her finger on their wedding day. Whether they end up with triplets in nine months, or a cat in nine years, he’ll be right by her side through it all. Betty’s the one constant in his life, and he’d be a fool to give her up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The weekend passes tensely. Despite their best efforts to banish all thoughts of children, a couple down the hall has a teething daughter and a giggly toddler, and their cries only serve to further his agitation.

They don’t talk much, but he and Betty sit side by side, working on assignments or studying quietly. It’s comforting, and works to calm his frayed nerves until he’s so on edge the slightest noise has him jumping three feet in the air. By Sunday night, he’s ready to explode.

He’s too engrossed in musical theory to notice when Betty propels herself towards the bathroom, dropping her textbook on the ground with a loud thump. When she throws herself in his arms upon her return, however, he finally looks up from his notes.

“I’m not pregnant,” she exclaims, cheeks flushed and electric-blue eyes wide.

There’s a split second of confusion as the words process, and then he’s laughing into her neck and she’s bouncing with relief and their neighbours must think they’re insane.

“Wait, how –“

She shoots him an obvious glance. “Biology, Arch.”

And then he’s kissing her hard – rough and passionate and _relieved –_ and she kisses him right back.

“Tomorrow, after class, we are finding a doctor and getting you some birth control,” he tells her. She doesn’t reply, but the intense kiss she pulls him into is answer enough.

His entire world has been glued back together, and it’s revolving once again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Final exams for Archie and Betty end with a nine hour road trip through the snow, six days before Christmas. Usually, Betty would suggest waiting for the storm to die out, but Kevin was insistent on holding their annual Christmas movie marathon, and the only way to get there in time was to leave right after Betty’s last exam and drive through a snowstorm. She knows it will all be worth it once they’re curled up on the couch, watching _Miracle on 34 th Street _and drinking Fred Andrews’ famous hot cocoa, but until then, Betty’s going to be stressed out and anxious.

“Betts, we’re going to be fine!” says Archie as he does thirty-five miles per hour down a seventy-five stretch of highway. It’s only four o’clock in the afternoon, but the sun has already started to set behind the heavy grey clouds. To make matters worse, they’re still twenty minutes out from Portland, so it’d be another five hours if they were doing the limit. At this rate, it’ll be morning before they make it home. “The storm’s going to clear up by the time we get to Augusta, and from there, it’ll be an easy drive.”

“As long as we avoid as many mountain roads as humanly possible, that is.” It’s no secret that Betty has had a fear of the twisty roads since she and her family had nearly gotten hit by a runaway truck ten years ago.

“But the easiest way back to Riverdale is through Greendale. We’re going through the mountains,” Archie declares, harsh and final.

That doesn’t stop her, though. “I can think of a dozen other ways to get home while staying away from steep inclines and sharp corners.”

“Yeah, but then we’ll be driving all night, and I’m already getting tired.”

Betty huffs. “I’ve offered to drive –“

“But you can’t!” he exclaims, slapping the wheel with frustration. “What if we get pulled over, Betty, and they realize that you’re not insured to drive? We’d never get back home!”

“If we go through the mountains, we could hit a patch of ice and fall off the side of a cliff and _die,_ ” she points out. Unlikely as it is, the accident has gotten her to think the worst of driving through Maine in the winter.

Archie shakes his head. “There isn’t any ice because it hasn’t gone above fifteen this entire week in any part of the East,” he counters.

Begrudgingly, she admits he has a point. But Betty isn’t ready to concede yet. “Even with winter tires, we could lose traction and go off a cliff.”

“That’s not going to happen!” Archie protests, just as they lose traction and veer towards the edge of the road. The truck gathers momentum from the slope of the ditch, wheels spinning faster and faster.

“Archie, look out!”

A gigantic oak tree looms, but Archie’s lost control and is helpless to stop it.

It’s the last thing she sees before she passes out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Betty wakes up to a slow, steady beeping. Her eyelids are heavy, as though stuck together with super glue, and her head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton balls. To her left, she hears a page crinkle, a sigh heaved, the clack of a heel against the floor. The scent of expensive perfume mixes with bleach and sickness. She’s in the hospital then, and someone’s sitting at her bedside. Veronica, she guesses. It would explain the perfume and the heels. Maybe her mother, though considering their estrangement, she highly doubts it. But not Archie. So where is he, if not sitting vigilant by her bedside?

Gradually, the fog in her mind clears. Her eyelids grow lighter. She grows accustomed to the harsh light shining over her closed eyes, until she can finally open her eyes.

“Betty?”

So it is Veronica by her side, then. Betty cracks a weak smile, grateful to have a friend around. She tries to speak, tries to ask about Archie, tries to ask about the accident and her injuries and where the hell she is, but her throat has become the Sahara, and all that escapes is a croak to rival that of a frog’s last breath.

“Here,” Veronica says, carefully passing her a cup of water.

It’s a rainfall in the middle of a drought when she swallows the first sip, throat rejoicing with the hydration. She almost chokes as it goes down – she’s practically flat on her back after all – but manages the strength to push herself up just enough to guide the water down the right pipe.

“What happened?” she rasps, voice weak from disuse. How long has it been, then? A night? A day? A week?

Veronica looks to her shoes, shifting in her seat. “I don’t know much,” she admits. Her gaze flits back up, and she meets Betty’s eyes. “You were in an accident, and the hospital managed to unlock your phone and call Fred. We all came as soon as we could. Kevin and Jughead have gone to locate your luggage, and Fred’s sitting with Archie. We came up with a schedule so neither of you would wake up alone.”

There’s something she’s not telling, a secret weighing on her shoulders, but Betty only smiles appreciatively. “Thank you.” She’ll save her pressing questions for another time.

“I should probably go find a doctor. I’ll be right back,” Veronica promises, heading towards the door.

With Veronica gone, Betty takes the time to observe her new surroundings. A fresh bouquet of flowers sits on the table beside her bed, the vase brimming with daisies and chrysanthemums. Two cards stand next to the vase, a small teddy bear between them. To her right, floral curtains are drawn back to reveal the setting sun. That means she’s been here for a whole day.

“Betty!” A cheerful woman greets. In her arms, she clutches a clipboard. A stethoscope hangs around her neck. She seems at ease in her plum-colored scrubs and white lab coat. That, plus the slight wrinkling around her eyes, and the white highlights in her blonde hair indicates to Betty that she’s been doing this for a while, and she begins to feel at ease. “I’m Dr. Tyler. Glad to have you back with us. Do you remember what happened?”

“Bits and pieces. Veronica mentioned that we were in an accident. It was snowing, I think. We were arguing about how to get home. I wanted to stick on the Interstate, but Archie insisted on taking the back roads. They’re faster, but my family almost got hit by a truck up in the mountains when I was ten, and I’ve been scared of those roads ever since.”

Dr. Tyler nods. “Good.” She signs a small flashlight in Betty’s eyes, going back and forth for a few seconds. “Your cognitive function appears to be intact,” she announces, returning the flashlight to her pocket with a satisfied nod, “and your scans are all clear, though you may still experience common symptoms of a concussion, such as dizziness or headaches. As for the rest of your injuries, you have a dislocated shoulder that we’ve put back into place, a fractured knee cap, and three bruised ribs. It might hurt to breathe for a few weeks, and you won’t be able to walk until your knee is healed, but I expect a full recovery.”

Thanks to her skills as an investigative journalist, Betty notices a slight hesitation from Dr. Tyler and latches on. “What? Is there something else? Is it Archie?”

The doctor sighs. “No, Betty, your husband is just fine. But, there is one other thing. I’m sorry, but in the accident, there was too much trauma, and you had a miscarriage.”

Betty blinks. “What?”

“You were about eight weeks pregnant, but the impact from the crash caused you to lose the baby. Again, I’m really sorry.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I understand that it may be difficult for you to understand, but all the signs were there. You had a miscarriage, Betty.”

Betty shakes her head. “Four weeks ago, I skipped class because I thought I was pregnant. My husband and I decided that we would pick up a test after the weekend, but I never got the chance to, because I got my period Sunday night. I was never pregnant.”

“Spotting can be common in pregnancies, especially near the beginning. They don’t often teach it in school, so it’s not unusual for women to believe it’s their periods. I truly am sorry, Betty. I understand that this must be very difficult to hear.”

Suddenly, it all makes sense; the first missed period, the significantly lighter bleeding she assumed to be her period, the fatigue she’s had for the past month. Of course, these are also symptoms of stress, and nothing’s more stressful than a double major at an expensive school in New York City.

“I need to continue with my rounds, but if you need anything, the red button pages the nurses’ station.” Dr. Tyler gives her a sympathetic smile. “I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours.”

As Dr. Tyler’s footfalls fade away, a crushing sense of anxiety presses on Betty’s chest. Her _stupid_ argument with Archie took away their child. Granted, neither had felt ready beforehand, but that doesn’t change anything. This was their child, the life created from their love, and now they’re gone because of Betty’s irrational fear. Gently, she touches her stomach, imagines the small swell of infinite possibilities that have all been wiped away.

“This is my fault.” A hurricane of emotions is battering her mind, pelting her with shame and remorse. Her lip trembles as fat, hot tears spill down her cheek.

Veronica stares at her with fierce eyes, grabbing onto Betty’s good shoulder. “No, Betty. This is no one’s fault. No one – not you, not Archie – could have known that _any_ of this would happen.” A manicured finger touches Betty’s chin, drawing her gaze to meet Veronica’s. “You don’t get to beat yourself up over this. It happened, and there’s no way to take it back, so you need to move on. No wallowing, no dreaming, and certainly no self-pity. If you want to blame someone, blame God. Blame Mother Nature for letting it snow. Blame the tree for smashing into the truck. But do _not_ blame yourself.”

The harsh words, though hard to hear, do their job well. Her guilty sobs slow, becoming the occasional hiccup, as the tears dry on her cheeks. Veronica’s words sear into her mind, and Betty begins to understand the truth. Like a mantra, she repeats, “it’s not my fault,” until the guilt starts to dissipate. It will never truly be gone – a speciality of Betty is holding on to her insecurities, thanks to the constant “constructive” criticism from her mother – but for now, at least, her conscience feels lighter. The crushing weight over her chest is gone, swept away by the river of tears she’s cried.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not a bad person, Betty. Sometimes, things just happen, and we’re all helpless to stop it. I have my own regrets, but I don’t let them keep me from living my life. Just try to remember that.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Before, Betty survived high school by clutching onto the lifeline that Archie had thrown to her, as though only he could pull her to safety, and he was the only one willing to save her; as though she was drowning and he had come to rescue her.

Before, she thought Archie was meant to be equated with survival.

For so long – three naïve, _stupid_ years of her life – she fooled herself into believing that trusting him, loving him, would keep her afloat as the current latched onto her foot, dragging her under, filling her lungs with the fiery waters of Hell.

Turns out, he was the one to toss her overboard.

Months pass after the accident, and any semblance of a happy relationship is merely an act. A façade to deceive the outside. A ruse set in place to trick their friends.

The miscarriage is never brought up. Nothing’s brought up, because they never talk. They sit quietly most days, not outright ignoring each other but making no effort to mend their broken relationship. It’s deafening, but Betty begins to find comfort in the pounding of her pulse echoing in her ears. Anything beats the fighting brewing within. She tries to remember the good times, their high school days of young and innocent love, to hold on to what they’ve almost lost, but even her fondest memory is overpowered by this change within their relationship.

Wrongly, she’d assumed the accident would bring them closer; that it would further unite them as Betty&Archie. Instead, she learns the truth, and the subtle crack becomes a canyon. They’re as far apart as they’ve ever been, separated by the agony and heartbreak. A raging river snakes through the gorge, frothing white and storming blue, and Betty feels a tug in her soul. Cruising through the waves is a boat, and something’s bobbing behind it. Belatedly, Betty realizes that it’s her; that in the center of this rift, what started the unspoken fights and the endless silence, is Archie staring without remorse as she struggles to hang on to the rope he so lazily tossed to her.

It’s May when she finally confronts him. They’re back in Riverdale, staying in Archie’s old room, and the memories burst in, the dam cracking from the mounting tension. They rush down the river, sweeping her under the waves with their force. She tries to swim up to the surface, to break through the water and feel the sun beating down, but the undertow grips her leg and pulls her to the bottom.

“You never did tell me what you were doing at Sweetwater River after homecoming.” Her voice breaks, the raw emotions building in her throat as she thinks of that horrific night.

He sets his guitar on its stand, shoving the pick under the strings. His jaw tenses. Above, rain pounds the roof as thunder cracks in the distance.

“I needed a quiet place to think,” he lies, avoiding her piercing gaze.

Outside, rivers form in garden beds and pavement cracks as the rain pelts the ground with a harsh and unrelenting fury. Sweetwater River will be overflowing by morning, the shoreline receding five, maybe ten feet. It’s the worst storm they’ve had since that night.

“Don’t lie to me, Archie. For years, I’ve accepted that as the truth, but I’m sick of it. Something happened there, and it almost ruined us. It _did_ ruin us. And now, I want to know.”

His gaze settles on the ground. “I’m not lying.”

“Then look me in the eye and tell me. Say to me, honestly, that you didn’t go there that night with the intention of drowning yourself.”

The familiar silence rears its ugly head, telling her all she needs to know.

Betty scoffs. “That’s what I thought.” A beat. “You used to be the one constant in my life. For years, I could count on you when I needed familiarity. And now, I look at you, and I have no idea who you are. You’re not the same boy who proposed to me in second grade, and it’s taken me too long to realize that you haven’t been for a while.”

“You’re not the same either, you know.” His head lifts slowly, and he stares straight into Betty’s soul. “You used to be my best friend, and I don’t even know you. The old Betty never kept secrets from me.”

“What secrets? What have I kept from you?”

“I know about the miscarriage.” The words are quiet, but they’re the final wave that pushes her under. “Veronica told me a week ago. Said that I deserved to know the truth. Do you not trust me, or something? Because if not, I’d like to know sooner rather than later, before I waste the rest of my life with a woman who doesn’t really love me.”

“Archie, you lied to me for over two years,” she counters. “You wanted to _die,_ and all you said was you needed somewhere to think. I’m sorry if my own husband lying to me after years of brutal honesty gives me trust issues. And you don’t have to worry about spending a single second with me anymore. I’m done.”

With that, she walks out of the house, drowning in the deadly waters and regrets of their relationship.


	2. sophomore year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more angst and then fluff, as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there may still be a third and fourth chapter but for now I'm posting this and calling it done
> 
> not that anyone really cares because sadly archiebetty has taken a major backseat in the show and and it's slowly killing me (love varchie and all but i've been team archiebetty since episode one and I'm still holding out for a victory. or at least a bughead breakup because I do not ship them and that would still make me really happy. but this is not the spot to discuss my ship preferences)

The one constant in Archie’s life has always been Betty Cooper.

Until she isn’t.

For fifteen years, Archie has had Betty by his side through it all. She’s always been the most consistent thing in his life, in the forefront of his mind day and night. Many of his best memories involve Betty. Though lately, she’s been in very few, and the few in which she makes an appearance plague him through the day, haunting his dreams like a ghost.

He will admit to royally screwing up. While it wasn’t three years of lying, Archie had spent three years avoiding the truth. But Betty had been going through her own problems at the time, and he wasn’t seriously thinking about any type of harm. All of his thoughts had been hypotheticals. Besides, he knew his death would destroy so many people, and imagining their screams of anguish was louder than any thoughts of suicide.

However, he isn’t the only one to blame in the destruction of his marriage. Betty had been keeping secrets of her own; secrets that Archie was allowed to be told. His depression was – and still is – a personal part of himself he isn’t ready to share, but Betty never bothered to mention that she’d been pregnant with _his_ child. He understands that she suffered a terrible trauma, but he was – still is, but just barely – her husband. If anyone should be there for her at a time such as that, it should be him. It wasn’t just her that lost a child, either.

It’s been four months since Betty walked out on him, and they haven’t talked once. No calls, no texts, not even a tweet or Facebook comment. He’s assuming she packed her things while he was working and moved in with Veronica, but even she won’t talk to him, so by now, Betty could be huddling with the penguins in Antarctica and he wouldn’t have a clue. The realistic side of him knows this means trouble; completely avoiding him doesn’t exactly scream ‘I still love you’. But the optimistic side is hopeful. No contact is better than that through a divorce lawyer. (Though that may be because they’re both too broke to afford one.)

Still, it’s getting to him. The longest Archie’s gone without talking to Betty was the summer before freshman year, when her parents dragged her to Europe for a week. Even in middle school, when Archie spent more time with Reggie and Betty befriended Kevin, they talked every day in class, and most days during the summer. A damn ocean couldn’t even keep them apart. And now there aren’t more than three streets and a locked door between them, but he’s never felt further away.

It hurts, physically and emotionally, being so far from Betty. Besides his therapist, she was the one he talked to most about his problems. From dumb homework assignments to their future, she heard it all. Maybe that’s why he never talked to her about his depression. Not in depth, at least. He burdened her with all his stress and he wanted to give her a break. Now, Archie realizes his mistake; that should have been the one thing he talked about with her. If he had, they wouldn’t be in their current predicament, and he’d be happy again.

From time to time, he’ll see this girl in his class – Eliza, he thinks is her name – and lose control of his emotions. The way she acts and dresses is identical to that of Betty, and she even has the same name; Elizabeth. Seeing her puts a strain on his broken heart. It reminds him of everything he gave up. His professor’s beginning to become suspicious. Archie can see it in the way her eyes crinkle as he races into the hall when the light hits Eliza’s hair just so and she transforms into Betty. He’s glad she’s concerned about him – better a worried teacher than a sociopathic one – but he doesn’t want people’s pity. All they’d do is give him dumb advice that works for approximately two percent of the population or judge him for having a lovers spat.

Speaking of Eliza, Archie glances up from his phone one humid day in late September to see her approaching warily, wringing her pale hands out like a towel. Her silky blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, grazing the back of her neck. She’s sporting a white tank top and a pink mini-skirt; perfectly acceptable attire for the current weather, but distracting nonetheless. (Just because he’s married doesn’t take away his rights to look. He’d never cheat on Betty anyways; he loves her far too much, even with their troubles.) She’s new to NYU, having transferred from University of California when her family uprooted to the east coast and she didn’t have enough money to stay out west. Friendly and charismatic, she quickly befriended half of her fellow Musical Theory majors, and is masterfully working her way through the other half. Archie’s talked with her a handful of times, but she’s far too similar to Betty for him to stand anything longer than a two minute conversation, so he finds her approach surprising.

“You’re Archie, right?” she asks with a shy smile. God, even her voice sounds like Betty’s.

“That’s me. Can I help you?” His voice comes out more condescending than he means, and he realizes this when she blushes, embarrassed.

“I just – I’m a friendly person, and not to be egotistical, but everyone seems to like me. Everyone but you. And I want to know if it was something I said or if you’re like this with everyone . . .”

Archie frowns. Does he really come off so badly? He’s not actively trying to scare people off. In fact, he’d love some new friends to distract him from his marital issues. “It’s not you, I promise. You just . . . remind me of someone. It’s – it’s complicated between us right now. I won’t bore you with the details.”

“No, it’s alright,” she says, a little too eager. Realizing her mistake, Eliza giggles into her hand. She’s perkier than Betty, and a little flirtier, but that isn’t enough for him to start seeing them differently. “Sorry, I just – I like the boring details, and if you want to talk, I’d be happy to listen.”

It’s tempting, despite her many similarities to the one currently causing his stress. Talking to someone besides Jughead or his shrink might be good for him, and getting some of it off his mind could help him relax. Tape and glue is better than nothing at all. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Archie’s casually minding his own business, sipping his coffee while perusing the internet in the back corner of his favorite coffee shop, when a familiar song begins to play over the radio. His feet tap to the beat and he quietly mouths the words he memorized three months ago as he continues to not-stalk Betty’s Facebook. (He says not-stalk because he’s simply checking to see if she’s updated her relationship status recently. That’s all he does, promise. No creepy stalking whatsoever.) He doesn’t realize he’s actually singing until Eliza asks him about it, halfway through the bridge.

“How do you know all the words already? This is a brand new Josie and The Pussycats song, and I’ve seen how long it takes you to memorize definitions.”

For a moment, he stutters awkwardly, attempting to think of an excuse that won’t reveal the truth. He’s saved when the song ends and the radio host introduces the three members of the band and begins to ask about their newest single.

“So it’s quite obviously about heartbreak, and you’re famous for writing all of your own songs. Are any of you willing to own up, or are we gonna be guessing for years to come?”

“It’s not about any of us, actually,” Josie answers. “A good friend of ours wrote it, and when he sang it for us, we knew it would be a hit. So he gave us the music and we started recording right away.”

“Does this friend have a name?”

“We’re not at liberty to say. It is a very personal song, and we’ll let him talk about it on his own terms. But I will say this: thank you for the song. I’ll buy you a burger next time we’re both back home.”

Archie can practically hear Josie wink. His eye roll must give him away, because there’s no other way Eliza would recognize the hints Josie dropped. Broken hearts are the topics of their weekly discussions, not childhood friends.

“You – you wrote that!” she exclaims, pointing her finger excitedly. “You wrote a song for Josie and The Pussycats!”

“Keep it down,” he hisses, shoving her down to avoid the annoyed looks of the other patrons. “No one knows it was me, and I’d like to keep it that way. If Betty finds out . . .”

Eliza nods sympathetically. “She’ll kill you. I understand. Still, it’s pretty exciting. An actual song that you wrote is on the radio!”

Some days, it doesn’t feel so great. The song only exists because he fucked up, because he lied, because Betty did more than break his heart; she destroyed it. He shouldn’t have had to pour his broken heart and soul onto the pages, shouldn’t have to go home to an empty apartment each night, where the memories of before crush him like they’re the world he has to hold on his shoulders.

Archie doesn’t know who to blame anymore. From time to time, when he’s really feeling like shit and the whole world’s against him, he’ll blame his mom. For leaving, for getting sick, for dying, for putting the wedge between him and Betty. And then he’ll remember his childhood, when she’d bake cookies after school and tuck him in each night with a story and a kiss to the forehead, and Archie will feel even worse. How could he blame someone so sweet and forgiving for his own selfish reasons? That’s how the song was born; from his own remorse about not just Betty and their separation, but setting the blame on his late mother.

“Yeah, it’s . . . pretty cool,” he agrees lamely. God, he’s got to get over her. Over this all. It’s dragging him down. His world’s on fire, and each reminder of her, every glance her way and every memory in the apartment, is dosing his life with gasoline.

But moving on isn’t what Archie wants. Betty is what he wants. Imagining a better life with the woman he loves is the only thing that gets him through the day. Hoping, wishing, that she’ll take him back, accept his apologies, love him again, is the only thing keeping him alive at this point.

“Come on. You need a distraction, and I think I have something that can help.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

That “something” turns out to be a large bottle of alcohol hidden in Eliza’s sock drawer. Vodka, to be exact. Archie’s never done well with vodka. Foggy memories of the Fourth of July come in fragments; some shots here, some dangerous activity there, until he remembers enough to know that vodka plus him equals bad news. But he needs a drink, and Eliza’s providing, so he’s not going to say no.

They’re drunk within the hour, though that tends to happen after downing ten shots in quick succession. Turns out, Eliza’s a flirty drunk, which goes along nicely with Archie’s drunken charisma.

It turns not-so-nice after another shot.

Archie, although at times stupidly oblivious, has been noticing Eliza’s flirtatious remarks and actions regarding him for the past three weeks. It’s hard not to, when she’s batting her eyelashes every ten seconds. But he persists, refusing to give into her wiles. He’s still married to Betty, and cheating on her would be the end of it all. She’d never forgive him after that.

But alcohol alters his brain cells until he’s a charming but idiotic disaster, and he finds himself leaning in closer with each story Eliza tells. It doesn’t help that her kind eyes are the same beautiful shade as Betty’s. The same attraction he feels with his wife draws him in, until their faces are inches apart.

And then Archie makes a decision. A stupid, life-ruining decision.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he tells Eliza, callused fingers caressing her smooth cheek.

She leans in first.

The kiss is sloppy and awkward. Their noses bang, their teeth clash, and it just isn’t right. There are no sparks, or fireworks, or a fluttery feeling in his stomach. Archie feels . . . nothing. No residual attraction whatsoever. It’s plain, boring, and horrible.

“I – I can’t do this,” he says. Pulling away causes his adrenaline to stop pumping, and he begins to feel heavy. Hungover. The kiss was so terrible it sobered him up. “I’m sorry. I just . . .”

He runs out of her room, her apartment, Manhattan altogether, and doesn’t stop until he’s somewhere in Queens, but even that seems too close. Archie needs to get out, he needs to leave town and never look back. New York is populous, but NYU is tiny in comparison. He’ll run into Eliza every day in class, and he’s surprised to have not seen Betty yet. Looking them in the eyes is impossible now. Cheating isn’t just physical; it’s emotional, and he’s done it to them both.

Autonomously, Archie pulls out his phone and clicks on the familiar contact photo. The effects of the alcohol have kicked back in and his good judgement is fading fast. His finger moves faster than his mind, though, and he’s listening to the phone ring, once, twice, three times, before he begins to think about what he’s doing.

“What do you want?” Veronica barks.

Guess she’s not over the break-up either.

“I fucked up,” Archie admits. He’s lying on a bench in some random park, tipsy at two in the afternoon. A mother pushing a stroller walks past and gives him the death-stare, but he’s too busy confessing his guilt to give a shit about her or her kid.

“No shit, Andrews. Why do you think I’ve had your wife moping on my couch for the past four months?!”

“No, not that. Well yes that, but no, I . . .”

“Are you drunk?”

He hiccups. “What gave you that idea?”

“Okay, what the fuck did you do?”

“I might’ve . . . there was this girl, and I might’ve kissed her?”

Out of all of Veronica’s possible reactions, Archie expects a heavy sigh, maybe some yelling and guilt-tripping.

Instead, she laughs. Apparently, Veronica finds his misery amusing, which is the least surprising part of it all.

“You – you kissed her? What, did you forget how to fuck with your impaired judgement or something?” Another fit of laughter echoes in his ear, loud enough to hold his phone a foot away from his head.

“This isn’t funny, Ronnie. I – I cheated on Betty. I ruined everything!”

“Oh, you sweet, naïve, dumb boy.” She takes on a condescending tone, but he doesn’t mention it. He deserves every insult in the book, especially from Veronica. “You think Betty will give a shit about a kiss? Most people, especially you, do stupid things while drunk. Kissing another woman included.”

“So she’ll take me back?”

Veronica chuckles, this time ironically. “No. She’s still pissed. So am I. You need to earn our forgiveness, Andrews.”

“And how can I do that?”

“Show her that she can trust you. Betty won’t take you back if you don’t tell her the truth. Now, I have a date. I don’t want to hear from you again until you’re banging down my door with a dozen roses and the world’s best apology.” The call ends with a single beep.

Archie’s always known Veronica to be sneaky, but this is over the top.

But he doesn’t have time to worry about that now; he has a grand gesture to plan.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Betty is miserable. Gloomy. Depressed. Any adjective that fits the description of having a shitty time describes her. For months, she’s antagonized over her decision to leave. Wondering if it was the right thing to do. Asking why it hurts so much if it was. She presumes that Archie isn’t feeling any better than her, but maybe he’s enjoying this. Maybe he’s realized that the single life is better than being tied down at nineteen. She flinches at each knock on the door, every footstep in the hall, the random knocks on the wall, terrified she’s about to be served the inevitable divorce papers.

Paradoxically, she grows more optimistic and more concerned with each passing day. A day without divorce papers is a day still married to Archie, but he still hasn’t come around to apologize. Though at this point, she cares less about the apology and more about seeing her husband again. They’ve never lasted this long without contact, and it’s destroying her from the inside out. She’s still floating down that river, and she’s mere inches yet thousands of miles from the rope meant to save her, watching as Archie laughs and laughs at her misery.

Veronica tries to help, bless her soul, but there are some things even she doesn’t understand. Clothes, makeup, shoes, boys, school – everything a typical teenager is concerned about, Veronica recognizes. She can connect to those. But having her heartbroken by her childhood best friend is an area in which she isn’t qualified. Few are, really.

Some days, she’ll start a text, writing out her apology in the little message box for an hour until it’s perfect, and then she’ll erase it. According to Veronica, sending it first will make Betty seem desperate. If she can’t wait this out, they’ll never make it. What she doesn’t understand is that they’ve waited it out a thousand times already, because every passing day is longer than Betty’s ever wished to go without talking to Archie.

But she stays vigilant. She waits and waits for a sign, something to tell Betty that he’s still playing the long game so she can finally make her move.

This sign comes in the form of two dozen roses and a box of cupcakes from Betty’s favorite local place being delivered to her front door at four in the afternoon. Inside a bouquet is an envelope that she opens to reveal a letter, hand-written and heartfelt.

_Betty,_

_I’m writing this to you because there is so much I can’t say in words. I’m not even sure this will help, but I’m going to try to. I wrote this letter in the hopes you’ll understand that I can’t spend another second parted from you._

_That first night you left, after the fight we had in tenth grade, I thought I knew heartbreak. The love of my life had just walked out, and it was my fault. I was miserable; not sleeping, not eating. I bombed my first Spanish test the next day. Jughead force-fed me onion rings and coffee to survive, but that’s all I was doing; surviving. There is no living without you._

_And then you came back, and we were alright. Not perfect, but no couple ever is. I felt invincible, like no one could tear me down, even with my depression. I knew, no matter how bad the day that I still had you. Sometimes it was hard, I will admit that. Sometimes, I felt as though nothing would ever get better. But it did. We survived Junior Year relatively unscathed, and Senior Year was no different._

_I remember very strongly the relief I felt on that warm April day when you said yes. For two months, I had been terrified, but I was just as determined. I wanted to marry you. And you said yes. You wanted to marry me, too. Nothing, not football, or college applications, or final exams, had been as scary as that moment, and it was worth every moment of doubt in the end. Everyone was so shocked when you showed up to school with the ring on your finger, and they kept telling us that we were too young, that we had our whole lives ahead of us and shouldn’t spend it tied down. And I remember what you said to them all: “I do have my whole life ahead of me, and I want to spend it married to the man I love.” I fell in love with you all over again that day._

_Our wedding is a blur to me. From the moment Jughead woke me up to when I fell asleep with you in my arms, I only have two clear memories: you walking down the aisle as I thought of how lucky I was to be marrying the most beautiful girl in the world, and the moment you slid the ring onto my finger, as it was the moment I knew you truly meant forever._

_‘Forever’ is such a heavy word, and few people truly know its weight. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to understand the drastic implications, but at that moment, I was prepared to spend my whole life with you to figure it out. I never wanted to let you go._

_I still don’t._

_I messed up. I wasn’t honest with you, and I shut you out of an important part of my life. Every day, I regret my decisions, because every day I wake up and know that if I had just told you the truth, you’d be lying next to me and everything would be great. I’m not sure if you’ll ever be able to forgive me, but please, give it a shot. I promise that from now on, I will never lie to you again. One more chance is all I ask._

_I love you, Betty Andrews, and I always will. Don’t throw it all away because of one mistake._

_Archie_

_P.S. come to the roof. Dress warmly._

Carefully, she refolds the letter and replaces it in the envelope. A single tear runs down her cheek and Betty wipes it away, sucking in a sharp breath.

“No more crying, Betty,” she mumbles to herself. “You’re stronger than this.”

Controlling parents, honor classes, and school bullies have prepared her for this moment. They pushed her around until she learned to push back. Years of being shoved down, being told she wasn’t good enough and never would be, has thickened her skin. Impossible classes and failing grades gave her determination and patience. Insults and rude remarks have strengthened her resolve. Nothing Archie can say will be any worse than what she’s already faced in her life.

Betty scrambles around her room (aka Veronica’s closet-sized living room) for her warmest fall-appropriate clothes. Though typically a neat person, the stress these past few months has caused her to forgo her usual organizational habits. Now, her belongings are scattered throughout the room; bras hang from the curtain rod, shirts litter the floor, and there might be a skirt hanging off the back of the television.

In the end, she discovers an old hoodie of Archie’s buried beneath her winter jacket, and pulls it over her head before she can change her mind. Inhaling deeply into the baggy sleeves, the scent of maple syrup and Pop’s overwhelms her senses. A comforting feeling warms her from the inside out, bringing with it memories of watching the sunset from Archie’s roof and Friday night football games, late nights spent at Pop’s and sneaking down to Sweetwater River for an early morning dip on Sundays. Her entire high school career is wrapped up in this single garment. Warm tears prick her eyes, and Betty uses the fraying cuffs to swipe them away.

Squaring her shoulders, Betty marches to the elevator. She’s a woman on a mission, and she won’t turn back until she gets what she wants. And judging from Archie’s letter, that won’t be too difficult.

As she ascends the stairs, the fuzzy feeling turns into nerves. What if it’s all a joke? What if he’s trying to bribe her upstairs so he can serve her the divorce papers? What if, when he sees her, he decides he made a mistake? What if she’s the one making a mistake?

Just as Betty psyches herself out and turns to go back to the apartment, the outside door swings open, ruining her plans.

“Betty,” he whispers, too soft and too loud. His eyes flit up and down, and if it were anyone else, Betty would feel violated. But this is Archie, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t check him out as well. “That’s my sweater.”

If the warmth of her cheeks are any indication of their color, Betty’s sure she could blend in with Archie’s hair. “You said to dress warmly,” she explains lamely, making vague gestures with her hands.

He chuckles, and Betty’s heart begins to race. God, it’s been too long if a simple _laugh_ makes her feel like this so soon into the night.

Extending a hand, Archie bows slightly. “Ms. Cooper.”

“That’s Mrs. Andrews to you,” she corrects, graciously accepting his unspoken invitation and his eyes light up brighter than Times Square.

Nothing’s fixed yet, and there’s still a long ways to go before they can get back to the way things used to be, but Betty has hope. Now, the rope isn’t sloshing through the waves quite so haphazardly. Instead, it’s pulled taught, one end knotted to the boat’s railing while the other is firm in Betty’s grip. She’s still in the river, but it’s just one step closer to rescuing herself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Why now?”

Archie glances to the woman lying beside him to see her watching him with inquisitive eyes. The fairy lights strung above them shine romantically, and Archie swears her hair is glowing. Lying on a frayed blanket in his old sweater, no make-up covering her face and clunky glasses sitting on her nose, she’s never looked more beautiful.

At his confused stare, she elaborates, “Why did you do all of this today, specifically?”

A lie is on the tip of his tongue, and he’s ready to spout nonsense to protect their delicate relationship, but then Archie remembers his promise. No more lies or untruths; only honesty, from here on out. With a sigh, he prepares to tell the truth, no matter the consequences it may have.

“There’s this girl in my class. Eliza. She came up to me one day, wondering why I didn’t like her, and then she offered to sit and listen if I ever wanted to talk. Then today, we went back to her place and, somehow, our conversation turned into shots, and I was drunk within the first twenty minutes. Turns out, she’s a flirty drunk, and . . . we kissed. And then I started to feel guilty, so I ran out and called Veronica, who essentially told me to get my shit together. So, here we are.”

Betty, with a soft smile, curls into his side, wrapping her arms around his left bicep to pull herself closer. Archie revels in the touch, and turns slightly to let her head rest on his chest, right above his heart.

“I’m glad you kissed her,” she admits quietly.

Archie frowns through the guilt those words bring forward. “What? Why?”

“Because it brought you back to me, in the end. But please, never kiss her again.”

“Don’t worry. The only one I want to kiss is you.”

The kiss is slow and soft, but promising. Her lips taste like cherry lipstick and the fruity rosé they finished minutes earlier. It’s intoxicating, and everything around Archie turns blurry, except for the feel of his lips on Betty’s, chapped meeting glossy.

Betty presses forward, deepening the kiss. There’s an eagerness in the way she swings her leg over his hip, pushes his shoulders to the ground, kisses him like it’s their last night on earth.

“Maybe we should take this inside,” he suggests when Betty pulls away for a moment. His pants are growing tight, and he doesn’t wish to give the neighbours any sort of view.

“Yeah,” she pants, out of breath from their heavy make-out session. “I’d like that. You’re full of great ideas, Mr. Andrews.”

“As are you, Mrs. Andrews.”

They’re far from perfect, but Archie knows that they’re still one step in the right direction closer than they were before.

**Author's Note:**

> chapter two will be posted sometime in the next few days, once I decide on whether or not I'm going to post the third chapter I have now, write a new one, or leave this with two.


End file.
